


When the Day Is Through

by the_genderman



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (mild), Angst, Angst and Porn, Anonymous Sex, Hook-Up, Internalized Homophobia, Look-alikes, M/M, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-29 23:14:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15739290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: It's 2012, fresh off the Battle of New York. Steve hooks up with a guy at a bar who looks a lot like Bucky.





	When the Day Is Through

**Author's Note:**

> No, this guy is not Bucky. He just kinda looks like him, and Steve is dealing (or not) with the survivor's guilt by hooking up with a stranger.
> 
> This ficlet is a "midquel" to a longer angst-and-pining fic that I'm in the process of writing. Hopefully that won't take _too_ long.
> 
> Title is a snippet of lyrics from the Ozzy Osbourne song "I Just Want You."

Steve had been coming to the bar for about a week now. Originally, it was just curiosity that drove him there, the idea that a queer bar could be so _open_ about the nature of its clientele, that they no longer had to worry about police raids. Sure, some of the patrons preferred anonymity (himself included), but there wasn’t that constant undercurrent of the taboo. Guys would come here to laugh and drink and hook up, fearless and free. 

But the curiosity only really factored into the first night. The second night, third, fourth, and so on could be put down to infatuation, obsession, or some similar feeling, drawing him to the bar in hopes of seeing the man again. On that first night, Steve had tucked himself off to the side, staying out of the most heavily trafficked areas, out of the lights, just an observer, seeing what this new century could mean for him. The man had arrived as Steve had been leaving, passing him in the doorway, and nearly causing Steve to run into the doorframe as he turned back after him. No, he wasn’t seeing things. This stranger really _did_ bear a striking resemblance to Bucky.

The stranger was a little taller, a little broader, his jawline was different and he wore his stubble well (Bucky would _never_ have gone out without being perfectly clean-shaven), but at a glance, Steve could almost believe that Bucky was still alive and well here in New York in well-fitted business casual. He made the decision right then and there that he’d come back again tomorrow night to see if the stranger would be there. 

Steve waited for four hours on the second night before returning home, his quest unfulfilled. On the third night, the stranger returned to the bar, but Steve found himself suddenly unable to uproot himself from his spot at the end of the bar. He’d fought _space aliens_ , for chrissakes, how hard was it to talk to a handsome guy? On the fourth and fifth nights, the stranger was absent again. Night six, he returned, and Steve finally worked up the nerve to approach him.

“Please, let me buy your next drink,” Steve said lightly, sliding onto the empty barstool next to the man who wasn’t Bucky.

The man turned to him with a languid smile. “Well, you won’t catch me turning down free alcohol. Especially not from someone as pretty as you.” He turned to the bartender and said “Hey Ted, mojito for me, and a neat whiskey for my new friend. You look like a whiskey kind of man,” he explained to Steve.

“Jameson’s, please,” Steve added.

Ted the bartender nodded and got to work.

“So,” the man said, dropping one elbow on the bar and putting his chin in his hand. “A little Tedbird told me that a big, blond hunk had his eye on me—or my empty seat—for a few days now looking like a lost puppy, and now you’re buying me a drink. If you’re wondering, yes, I’m single, no I’m not looking for a relationship. One night stand, though? I would not say no. That was what you were going to ask, yes?”

“Well, uh,” Steve replied, taken a little aback by how forward the man was. He was saved a longer reply by the arrival of their drinks.

The man sipped his mojito and raised his eyebrows at Steve.

“Yeah, I guess I was,” Steve said before picking up his drink.

“And _I’m_ guessing you don’t do this very often. That’s ok, and don’t worry, I don’t bite. Unless that’s what you want,” the man said with a laugh. “So how about we finish our drinks and head back to my place?”

Steve looked down into his drink and just thought for a moment. What was he doing? What was he _really_ doing? He knew this man wasn’t Bucky, but nothing else made any sense, so what did it matter if he took a little self-indulgence? He looked back up at the man, tossed back the rest of his drink, and nodded. “Finish your drink, I’ll pay the bill, and you can lead the way.”

\--------------------------

Steve heard the apartment door click closed behind him as he looked politely around the man’s apartment. Half the couch was covered with loose paperwork, a closed laptop sat blinking sleepily on the coffee table. The bookshelves were fairly neat, the DVD collection sorted alphabetically, the books by subject.

“It’s because I look like him, isn’t it?” the man asked, his voice neutral and non-judgmental.

“Hm?” Steve asked, startled. He turned away from the books.

“Sergeant Barnes. Bucky. I know I look like him, and I _did_ notice that you haven’t asked me what my name is. That’s fine, you can call me whatever you need,” the man explained, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Hey, I’m not judging. Any reason Captain America wants to go home with me is a good reason.”

Steve flinched at his title.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” The man pulled one hand out of his pocket, held up his fingers, and mimed zipping his mouth shut. “I’d never out anyone without their permission, and out or not, we’ve all got needs. So what’s your preference? What did you two do back in the day?”

“We didn’t, he… he wasn’t like that.” Steve looked at his feet.

The man made a sucking sound through his teeth. “Ooh. Alright. Anyway. Uh, wanna head to the bedroom?” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.

“Yes please.”

\--------------

The man pulled his bedsheets back, exposing the fitted sheet, before moving to his dresser to root around his sock drawer, keeping up the conversation as he went. “Now, I usually prefer to top, but for you, I’ll do pretty much anything within reason. Not that I think you’d suggest anything _un_ reasonable. You want me to suck you off, I’ll do it. You want me face down in the mattress, I’ll do it. You want me to wear lipstick and stockings, I’ll have to run out to CVS, but I’ll do it.”

“You don’t have to—” Steve began, holding up one hand, stopping, and reconsidering what he was going to say. “What I meant was, if you prefer to top, that’s perfect. I was hoping you’d be ok with taking the lead tonight. I just need to get out of my head for a bit.”

“ _Absolutely_ ,” the man said, his smile broadening as he glanced ostentatiously at Steve’s groin. “I’ll make it real good for you. Now, I can see you’re already raring to go, so how about you get those clothes off so we can get started?”

Steve nodded and both he and the man began to strip down. Steve folded his clothes neatly and set them aside before climbing onto the bed. He settled onto his knees and elbows, arms above his head, and forehead pressed against the mattress. He heard the crinkle of a condom wrapper and spread his legs farther apart in anticipation. His dick twitched, approaching painfully hard already.

“That’s how you want it?” the man asked. Steve felt the mattress shift and then a warm hand on his left hip.

“Yes, please,” Steve answered, pushing his ass back against the man’s hand. “I want it hard. I can take it.”

“Alright, but I’m gonna get you opened up first, ok? Even if you can take it, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Steve hummed an agreement. He screwed his eyes shut, whining with pleasure and impatience as the man lubed him up and slowly fingered him open. He’d never gotten this chance with Bucky, never would, but maybe he could convince his brain to let go of things that never happened if he could pretend for one night. 

Then, finally, the fingers were withdrawn, replaced by the man’s dick, glans breaching him and stretching him even further with an exquisite burn. Steve moaned, digging his fingers into the sheet, exhaling a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Please… please fuck me,” Steve begged. “I _need_ it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” the man replied, his voice soft. He patted Steve’s back, then grabbed his hips and began to thrust. “I gotchu. I’m gonna make sure you get what you need.”

“ _Harder_ , please,” Steve mumbled.

“Alright, if this is what you need,” the man replied. He gripped Steve’s hips tighter, pulled almost all the way out, and slammed back in with an audible slap of skin on skin. 

Steve groaned as the man found a steady rhythm, pounding away at his prostate, making him feel every forceful thrust deep within him. He needed this, needed to feel, needed to come, needed to have his orgasm forcibly wrung out of him, needed to let himself give up control, needed to let someone else take care of him. He’d resented it when he was younger, when he was smaller. Resented it when Bucky fussed over him when he got sick or got in another stupid fight. He couldn’t change the past, but what he wouldn’t give to be able to apologize for being such a pain in the ass when he was sick. To apologize for dragging Bucky into all of his fights. To apologize for bringing him onto that train. To apologize for not reaching him. 

Steve came with a half moan-half sob, a raw and inelegant sound. 

“Should I—” not-Bucky began to say, breathing heavily and slowing his thrusts.

“No, keep going. _I can take it_ ,” Steve said through gritted teeth and the bright-hot sensation, the almost-pain of overstimulation. “Come in me,” he said, almost a command.

The man said nothing in reply, but continued to pound into Steve, panting with pleasure until he, too moaned out his orgasm. He stuttered to a stop, leaning heavily against the small of Steve’s back.

“How was it?” he finally found the breath to ask. “Was it everything you needed?”

“Yes,” Steve whispered in reply. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The man glanced away without a reply. He knew those words weren’t for him. He pulled out gently and took care of the condom, watching as Steve just kind of crumpled. “You can use my shower if you’d like to clean up.”

“Thanks, but that’s ok. I’ll shower at home,” Steve said, pushing himself up into a sitting position like his body was the heaviest thing in the world. “Thank you. That was really good, and I’m sorry I can’t stay.”

“That’s alright, I understand,” the man said. He climbed off the bed to retrieve Steve’s clothes for him. “I’m glad you got what you needed.”

( _Had he?_ Steve wondered as he got dressed again. _Had he_ really _gotten what he needed?_ )


End file.
